


Come Back to Me

by RowanSparrow



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Implied Relationships, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Moriarty Made Them Do It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-25
Updated: 2018-03-25
Packaged: 2019-04-07 17:48:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14086296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RowanSparrow/pseuds/RowanSparrow
Summary: You (the reader) worked under Mycroft Holmes in the British Government until you were blackmailed by Moriarty into doing work for him. Now, Moriarty has one last job for you: Kill Mycroft Holmes.





	Come Back to Me

**Author's Note:**

> TW for implied/referenced suicide. If that sort of thing upsets you, DO NOT READ THIS!!

_Rain fell on the sidewalk as I ran along to the cafe around the corner. I had been halfway there when this storm had blown in, thoroughly drenching me. I cursed myself for not checking the weather before I left. As I wrapped my thin jacket tighter around me, the rain suddenly stopped, all at once. Looking around, I found that it was raining everywhere except for the area surrounding me._

_"Really Y/N, you must remember to bring an umbrella or something when you go out on these early morning walks through a rainstorm." a voice said from beside me. I glanced over, seeing the tall figure of Mycroft Holmes standing next to me. Looking up, I saw that we were both shrouded under the cover of his large, black umbrella that he seemed to always carry with him. I smiled._

_"I know, I know. It wasn't intentional today, however." I replied, shoving my hands in my pockets, grateful for the protection from the rain. He chuckled._

_"I find that incredibly hard to believe." he mused. I rolled my eyes, wiping some of the rain off my face._

_"I forgot to check the weather today. I was just heading to the cafe for a quick morning tea and suddenly this happens." This lead to another faint chuckle, and Mycroft looked at his wrist, checking the time._

_"Well, you're in luck. I was heading that way as well. I have a little while before I'm due back. Mind if I join you?" he asked. I shook my head._

_"Not at all." I replied. He smiled down at me, and we continued walking until we reached the cute little shop. Mycroft leaned forward, grabbing the door handle and holding it open for me, still holding the umbrella over my head. Once I was in, he closed the umbrella, shaking it off and stepping inside behind me._

_After sitting the umbrella down in the holder next to the door, he gestured over to a small table in the corner of the room. It was our usual table, as we both frequented this cafe, often running into each other. It had become practically routine, as he found it useful to rant about his brother's behavior to me, an impartial audience. The waitress soon walked over to us with her notepad and pencil in hand._

_"What can I get for you two today?" she asked, preparing to write. I opened my mouth to reply, but Mycroft spoke first._

_"English breakfast tea, with sugar and honey. Rose tea, plain. And, a plate of macarons. Blackcurrant, if you please." he requested. I closed my mouth, a small smile on my face as she walked away. Mycroft looked up, noticing my smile and looking back down at the newspaper that had been laid out. I could swear that I saw a hint of blush color his cheeks._

_"You remembered? I'm very impressed." I said. He cleared his throat, lifting up the newspaper and opening it to the first page._

_"Well, I recall it being very strange that you take nothing in your Rose tea. And blackcurrant macarons are my favorite as well." he replied. I chuckled, leaning back in my chair._

_"Ah, I see. Well, thank you for remembering, anyway." I replied. He snorted, turning the page of his newspaper. After a few moments of silence, I noticed something on the first page. Smiling to myself, I nodded at it. "Sherlock solved another case I see." I remarked. Mycroft scoffed, shaking his head._

_"Yes. He's been on a rampage since he met his little friend." he said. I smiled thoughtfully to myself, gazing out the window._

_"Yes, though I hear John Watson is quite fond of him as well." I replied smugly. Mycroft looked up at me over the paper curiously, and I chuckled, quickly shaking my head. "It's nothing, it's nothing." I said hurriedly as the waitress approached with our tray. Mycroft sighed._

_"Naturally." he replied. The waitress placed down the macrons and tea carefully, then bowed her head, giving Mycroft a sweet smile and walking away. I felt a strange feeling in my stomach, but shook it off quickly._

_"I think the waitress here fancies you." I remarked, and that strange feeling returned. He sniffed, picking up his teacup and taking a sip from it._

_"I think she fancies the fact that I come here and give her my business every day." he replied. I reached up to the macaron plate, my hand touching his as he had reached up at the same time. We looked up at each other, and I felt my face grow pink. "After you." Mycroft insisted, drawing his hand back. I laughed, grabbing one and bringing it to my lips._

_"Thank you." I said, smiling. He nodded, reaching to the plate and grabbing one as well. We sat for a while, just eating and drinking as the rain grew heavier outside._

~

That had been ages ago.

“Has it really been that long?” You wondered to yourself. With Moriarty, time had seemed to blur together. Nothing mattered to you but survival. Do what he said, get it done quickly, keep your mouth shut. Repeat. You wouldn’t have to worry about time for much longer.

You shook those thoughts away, focused back on your job. Moriarty had been very specific about what you were to do, all the way down to exactly how you were supposed to be sitting – one leg crossed over the other, elbow on the table, teacup in your left hand, facing the door – in that all-too-familiar little coffee shop. The bell chimed above the door, black umbrella closing as the figure stepped through the entryway.

Mycroft Holmes, as always, was right on time.

You watched as he very pointedly kept himself from glancing over at where you were sitting – odd, you’d never considered him the sentimental type – refusing to look at the table where the two of you had so often shared tea. He approached the counter, his back to you as he ordered a drink to go. The young woman at the counter did exactly as you had instructed her to, and wordlessly passed him a cup of plain rose tea.

You saw the tension settle in Mycroft’s already too weary form, watched his hand shift over the handle of his umbrella – you’d always wondered if he stowed a weapon of some sort there – and finally, _finally,_ turned towards your table.

You’d changed your hair, and your outfit was far different from anything you’d typically wear, but you saw the recognition – the pain, the fear, the relief and god damn us all the _joy –_ that washed over his face in that instant when he looked at you. You rose soundlessly, sweeping your coat off the back of your chair and around your shoulders in one fluid movement, stepping out the back entrance to the café and back into the street.

All according to plan.

Also according to plan, Mycroft Holmes did not follow you out. Part of you wished he had. That would’ve made all this easier. You had begun to understand Moriarty’s games with the Holmes boys a little better since you’d been working for him, and you found yourself understanding just how predictable the brothers really could be, once you’d watched them long enough.

No, he would not follow you out. Moriarty had been right about that.

It was in his office, his inner sanctum, his one sanctuary, where you would meet face to face again.

That’s where you were, thirty-two minutes and twenty-six and a quarter seconds later, when Mycroft Holmes stepped into his office. You didn’t miss the fractional jolt to his body when he saw you lounging in his chair, feet up on the desk, but he regained his composure just as quickly, quietly shutting the heavy doors behind him.

“I presume this was Moriarty’s doing?” He asked you matter of factly, folding his hands over the hook of his umbrella in front of him, like a soldier in parade rest.

“Mostly.” You answered, rolling one of his fountain pens between your fingers. “The tea was my idea.”

“Naturally,” Mycroft responded dryly. “You never could resist a personal touch to your work.”

You swung your legs down from his desk, choosing to lean forward instead. “How did it feel, Holmes? Did your blood run cold, like they say in the books and movies?”

A minute shift in his lips, a flicker of his eyelid. Otherwise his face remained expressionless.

“Can’t say I didn’t expect something like this.” Mycroft finally said, shifting his feet and placing the umbrella in its rack. “I always assumed your final quest would end with me.” He raised an eyebrow at you. “That is what you are here for, isn’t it, Y/N?”

He stepped forward, and in that one step you were on your feet, pistol in hand and aimed directly between Mycroft’s handsome eyes. Mycroft stopped, the faintest sneer crossing his lips.

“I see.”

“If you knew it was a trap, why’d you come here?” You asked him, not lowering your gun. Mycroft sighed, folding his hands behind his back and rolling his neck, like he was bored already with the whole ordeal.

“Truthfully, Y/N, I’d rather hoped I’d be able to… talk you out of it.” He lowered his voice slightly on the last phrase, and he brought his eyes back to you, his forehead creasing as he frowned sadly at you. “What have you gotten yourself into, Y/N?”

This… this was not part of the plan. What was he doing? Was this a scheme? If he knew you were coming to kill him, did he plan this out? This had to be some kind of trick, it had to be!

Yet his eyes… they were earnest, looking at you with such pain, such anguish, it was something you never thought to see in his face before. Your gun hand dipped slightly.

“You…” You shook it off, raising your gun again. “You’re stalling.”

“You know as well as I do that what happens behind these doors is strictly confidential.” Mycroft drawled. “If you were to shoot me in the head right now, I doubt anyone would even find my body for several days. Nobody would come looking for me.” He tilted his head at you, and in that instant, you thought he looked strikingly like Sherlock. “And yet, my dear Y/N, you haven’t pulled that trigger yet. So, what’s stopping you?”

He let the words hang in the air between the two of you, and you swallowed hard.

“I have to, Mycroft.” You whispered, your gun hand beginning to shake. “You know I do.”

“Frankly, I do not.” His voice was gentle. “You haven’t shot me yet because _you don’t want to kill me._ You are safe here, Y/N. You don’t have to be afraid of Moriarty anymore.”

“You don’t understand, he’ll -.”

“Y/N.” A crack of emotion rippled through his voice, and Mycroft clenched his fists. “Y/N, I’ve… I’ve come to care a great deal about you. I was -.” He cleared his throat. Tried again. “I was… lost, in your absence.”

A trick. It had to be a trick.

“Come back to me, Y/N. You know I can help you.”

You shook your head. “Nobody can help me.”

“I can.” Mycroft Holmes was dangerously close to begging. “Let me save you.”

You shook your head again, slowly lowering your gun. “You can’t.” You whispered. “But I can save _you.”_

Mycroft realized what you were doing, stepped forward, a cry of “Don’t!” halfway torn from his lips, but he was a beat too late.

You pressed the barrel of the gun against your temple and closed your eyes.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for a request on Tumblr. I'm @rowansparrow-writing on tumblr, come say hi!


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